


Summer in the Garden

by freyjawriter24



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Child Warlock Dowling, Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), F/F, Gardener Aziraphale (Good Omens), Genderfluid Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Minor Injuries, Nanny Crowley (Good Omens), Warlock Dowling Loves Nanny Ashtoreth, Warlock is a small child who like flowers and bugs and snakes and is very cute about it, but it's very minor, but the hurt person is a five year old and it's his celestial guardians that are comforting him, description of the injury in the end notes, looking after Warlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:15:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27270064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freyjawriter24/pseuds/freyjawriter24
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale watch over five-year-old Warlock Dowling, enjoying his summer in the garden.***Fic written forcrowethdoodlesfor the Ineffable Wives Exchange.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24
Collections: Ineffable Wives Exchange 2020





	Summer in the Garden

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MotherlyCrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherlyCrow/gifts).



> I couldn't decide on a good title, but here's some lovely [summer garden quotes](https://www.azquotes.com/quotes/topics/summer-garden.html).
> 
> Thank you to the wonderful [IsleofSolitude](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isleofsolitude) for beta-reading this for me!
> 
> There is a (very minor) injury in this fic - if you'd like to know what you're heading into, click to read the end note.

It was a nice day.

Not all the days had been nice, but most of them had been, at least recently. In fact, this summer had been something of a heat wave. All that meant for Warlock, of course, was a gruelling few minutes of sun cream application in the morning before he was allowed to go and play outside, and the same again after lunch. Otherwise life was much the same as it always had been, and he had free run of the garden, under the watchful eyes of his nanny and the gardener.

“It’s funny,” Nanny Ashtoreth had remarked earlier that morning, in the earshot of only the gardener. “It’s almost like being back at the Beginning again. Watching the earliest version of humanity run around a garden, looking at flowers and naming animals.”

“Making sure they don’t do anything wrong,” Francis had added, nodding softly. “Or, well, in your case, tempting them to a bit of rebellion.”

“Only a smidge,” Nanny said, smiling. “After all, how’s he going to change the world if he doesn’t think outside the box a little?”

The gardener waved away the comment and went back to pretending to neaten up a border hedge. Nanny watched Francis watch Warlock for a moment, then wandered off to be a little nearer to her charge in case he needed help with anything.

The day had drifted onwards in such a manner, as had so many of the days before it. Lunchtime came, and the cook brought out a selection of little sandwiches and bowls of fruit so they could have a picnic on the grass. Warlock didn’t like pineapple, so he swapped his for Nanny’s strawberries. And Francis did like pears, so Warlock gave up his for some apple instead. It was a fun game, swapping food, and it made Warlock’s guardians happy, so that was nice too.

Life as a whole was a game to Warlock – a fun one, where the rules were his, and his nanny was always there to protect him. He liked learning things, and counting things, and proudly telling the _eight_ pansies that they had _five_ petals, and that they were _yellow_ and _purple_. He also proudly told them that Nanny said he could crush them under his heels, but that Francis said he shouldn’t because they were pretty, and if they were crushed they wouldn’t be there anymore, and Warlock’s actions had con-cren-ses, or con-sec-ren-says, or something like that. So Warlock had decided the pansies could live for today, because life was nicer with them in it.

Warlock visited the pansies after lunch, then decided to see what other flowers there were that he could name and count. There were _roses_ – a lot of them, but Warlock couldn’t remember what came after twelve and he only had ten fingers, so he gave up after that. There were _irises_ , which were almost as tall as him, and definitely _purple_. And there were _lilies_ , which were _white_ and – oh!

Warlock stared in awestruck surprise at the large round dot on one of the lilies, which had just _moved_. He held his breath, watching carefully, waiting for it to move again.

It did, and this time Warlock saw how. Six little legs – count them – pushed its perfectly round little body along, as it explored the petal it was on. A bug, then! Warlock watched, enthralled.

It was red, this bug, with black spots on it – seven spots in total, not including what Warlock assumed was its head – and this information made Warlock very happy. Red and black were Nanny’s favourite colours, he knew, so she’d be excited to see it.

He was about to run back to Nanny and drag her over here to see, when the bug suddenly lifted up its red bits and flew off. Warlock jumped back in surprise, and watched the little dot zoom up into the air and disappear over the hedge. Then he squealed and sprinted back across the grass to where Nanny was sat on the patio.

“Nanny!” he cried, grinning madly as he jumped onto the patio next to her. “I saw a bug!”

“A bug?” Nanny Ashtoreth said, leaning forwards in interest. “What did it look like?”

“It was so cool! It was red and it had spots and they were black and that means you’d like it because it was red and black and you like red and black and it was awesome and then I was going to show it to you and it _flew away_!” Warlock finally paused for breath, waiting for Nanny’s pronouncement on that utterly incredible series of events.

“Wow!” Nanny said, and it didn’t sound pretend like some grown-ups did. “It was red with black spots?”

“Yeah!” Warlock said eagerly. “There were _seven_.”

“Seven! Wow, that’s a lot. And it flew away?”

“Yeah!”

“That’s amazing,” Nanny said. “Do you know what those bugs are called?”

Warlock shook his head.

“They’re called ladybirds,” she said carefully. “Ladybirds. Like a lady, like me” – she tossed her head to make her red curls bounce, which made Warlock giggle – “and then like a bird, because they can fly.”

“Ladybirds,” Warlock repeated. It was a fun word to say, and easy too, because it was just two other words he already knew stuck together.

“Ladybirds are good for the garden,” Nanny said. “You should go and tell Francis about the one you saw.”

“Okay!”

Warlock turned towards where the gardener was weeding the honeysuckle that was climbing up the wall, then paused. He looked back at Nanny.

“Is it a Brother or a Sister day today? Or a nothing day?”

Nanny smiled again, softly this time. “Sister today. Well done for asking.”

Warlock nodded seriously, then went barrelling across the patio again, shouting “Sister Francis, Sister Francis!” as he went.

And that was why both celestials saw what happened next.

It’s an inevitability for fast-moving small children that at least a few times while they are growing up and getting used to the ever-changing dimensions and abilities of their bodies, they will miscalculate something and trip. Sometimes it’s a patch of uneven ground that makes them stumble, and they haven’t learned to catch and rebalance themselves yet. Sometimes it’s an untied shoelace or a slippery sock on a shiny floor. And sometimes they’re just too excited to remember to make their feet run properly, and they trip over themselves with no outside influence at all. This fall was in the latter category.

There were a couple of things Nanny could have done. She could have slowed or stopped time, the way she had done a handful of times before, and set Warlock back upright again before he ever got near the ground, as if he’d never tripped. Or she could have made the ground soft for a moment, so the child might fall but feel no pain when he hit the floor.

Francis, too, could have done something. She could have snapped at the moment immediately after contact, when the injury has been sustained but the pain response hadn’t hit yet, and miracled away the grazes before Warlock knew he had them. Or she could have waited until the grazes were there, but taken just the pain itself away.

Neither of them did anything.

It wasn’t for lack of _wanting to_ , mind. Like parents and guardians the world over, each felt that tug in the chest, that heart-in-the-throat moment of pre-emptive sympathetic pain. Each wanted to protect this child, Antichrist or not, and if it were guaranteed that there would be no unintended consequences for their actions, each would have prevented this small event from happening without a second thought.

But there would be consequences. Warlock would stumble and be confused that he hadn’t fallen, or he would bounce and wonder at the new texture of the ground, or he would think his skin invincible against the rough stone of the patio, or he would learn to think injuries came with no pain. No. Each of those could spiral off negatively in any number of ways, and they were eventualities that neither the angel nor the demon caring for this child wanted.

So they’d agreed a long time ago that this sort of thing was normal for human children, and should happen occasionally to Warlock, too. When he tripped, they would not interfere. He would fall, graze his knees, scrape his hands, or bruise his legs, but he would be looked after, and it would not be the end of the world. A small dose of pain would _not_ be the end of the world.

(This is not to say that Warlock wasn’t protected by miracles for other things. He was one of the most heavily blessed children on the planet, at least in the last couple of millennia. Never would he break a bone. Never would he suffer an illness worse than chicken pox or the flu – both of which he’d be treated well for by human methods anyway, but he would also never have either badly. Never would anything untoward happen to endanger him whilst he was growing up, because he did have to grow up, being who he was. He was the safest child in the world. It’s just that that safety didn’t include the odd trip or slip or bump.)

All of which is to say, Warlock fell. He tripped over his own feet and lost his balance, and his knees skidded slightly on the rough patio surface, and his hands hit the ground straight after, saving his face from a similar fate. He sat up, a little shocked by the encounter. And then the pain from his skinned knees hit.

The sound of that first sob was like a knife to Nanny Ashtoreth’s heart. She stood up at once and hurried over to the wailing child. Francis got there a moment later, first aid kit already in hand.

“Ow, that looks like it hurt! It’s okay, it’s okay, Nanny’s here now.”

“That was a tough fall, wasn’t it, Master Warlock? You’ll be right as rain in a few minutes, though, won’t you? Big strong lad like you.”

The child cried for a minute or so, arms around Nanny and face buried into her chest. The demon kissed Warlock’s soft curls and glanced up at the angelic gardener, who had already cast an expert eye over the injury and nodded gently in response to the unasked question.

“That’s it, my little Lord of Darkness, that’s it. Deep breaths and hold on tight if you need to. It’ll feel better soon, I promise. Look, Sister Francis has her little box out already, see?”

Francis crouched close by and kept her hands on the first aid kit, in full view. “Can I touch it yet, Warlock? I want to clean out the germs and check it’s all okay.”

After a few more sobs and some shaky breaths, Warlock nodded.

“Alright, good. I’m just going to wipe your knees with these” – Sister Francis held up some antiseptic wipes – “and that might sting a bit, but it’s only the wipes killing all the germs and making sure you’re safe. If it hurts you can squeeze Nanny tight, she won’t mind.”

Warlock hesitated for a moment, then nodded. Francis opened up the wipes and brought them gently down over Warlock’s grazed knees. The child winced, but Nanny was there, and everything was okay.

“There you are, all done. Lovely and clean for you.”

“Well done, Warlock. You’re being very brave.”

The small boy smiled through the tears still tracking down his cheeks, and Nanny leaned in to wipe them away.

“Would you like some plasters for those, Warlock?” Sister Francis asked.

He nodded again, much more certainly this time.

“Ah, right then! What would you like on them?”

The child thought for a moment. “Is there a snake?”

“A snake?”

“Like Nanny’s.”

The demon felt her face heat up with a blush that reached all the way to the tattoo coiled beside her ear. Francis and Ashtoreth looked at each other for a moment – a long moment, one filled with unspoken meaning – and then the gardener looked back at Warlock again. “Of course, dear. Let’s have a look, shall we... Oh, there’s a black one here, and a red one, and a green one. Which colour would you like best?”

The purpose behind the plasters seemed almost forgotten now, as Warlock thought hard to decide his favourite colour. “Red,” he said eventually, and then smiled with the pure happiness of a child (or an angel) being gifted exactly what they always wanted.

“There you go,” Francis said, carefully applying the plaster with its red snake design to the boy’s left knee. “What about the other one? Same again?”

Warlock thought hard. “A knight.”

“A night? Like the sky, with stars in it?”

“No!” the child giggled. “Like with swords.”

“Ah, yes! Let me have a look.”

Another of the celestials' self-imposed rules were occasional instances of rejection. Warlock could, in theory, have whatever he wanted – being both an American diplomat’s son and the charge of two being capable of literal miracles – but it was important to his development, the angel and demon had reasoned, that he didn’t always get it. So sometimes he was given an alternative, and sometimes he was told a flat no. The logic being that he would become used to the idea that the world wasn’t always entirely fair, but even if that was the case, that didn’t necessarily mean it should end.

“Hmm,” Sister Francis said, deciding to act on that rule now. “I don’t have any knights, sorry. But I _do_ have a sword. And even better, it’s got fire around it! How does that sound?”

Nanny had to bite her lip to stop herself saying anything at that, but Francis just smiled innocently and bowed to Warlock’s enthusiasm to place the holy symbol on the Antichrist’s right knee.

“I heard a great story about a sword like that once,” Nanny Ashtoreth said lightly, having recovered herself a little. “I think Francis here tells it best, don’t you Sister?”

“Oh, well, perhaps.” The angel looked a little flustered at that, which looked oddly adorable, despite the ridiculous disguise. “I should think it’s best saved for another time, though.”

Plasters now applied, Warlock seemed to have forgotten the pain of a few moments before. “Can I go and play again?”

“Do you remember what you were going to tell Sister Francis before you fell over?” Nanny prompted.

Warlock looked confused for a moment, and then the two celestials saw the wonder break out over his face again. “Yes! There was a bug on the flower! On the lily. And it was red with black spots, and it was a...” He trailed off, thinking hard, brow furrowed in concentration. Then: “Ladybird!” he remembered triumphantly. “And then it flew away!”

“Oh wow, that is exciting,” Francis said. She wasn’t quite as good at sounding genuine as Nanny was, but Warlock didn’t seem to notice. “Ladybirds are good for flowers, because they eat the bugs that eat the flowers. So I’m always happy to see a ladybird in the garden.”

Nanny raised her eyebrows slightly at that, impressed that the angel had gone to the trouble to actually learn something about gardening.

“Your mother and father might call a ladybird something different, though,” Francis continued. “In America, where your family are from, they often call them ‘ladybugs’ instead.”

Warlock’s eyes went round and wide. Then he frowned. “But that’s silly. That doesn’t tell you anything!”

“No?” Sister Francis asked.

“Lady _bug_ just tells you it’s a bug. But you know that, because it’s right there. It’s a bug. Lady _bird_ tells you it can _fly_ too!”

Both celestials nodded sagely at Warlock’s logic.

“Well then,” Nanny said. “You can call them whatever you like. If you prefer ladybird, then that’s fine.”

“But at least if your parents say ‘ladybug’ then you know what they’re talking about,” Francis added.

Warlock nodded. “Can I go and play now?”

“Of course, my little Destroyer of Worlds.”

“Stay safe, dear!”

The two of them watched as Warlock ran off again, this time onto the relative safety of the grass. They stayed there together for a while, watching the Antichrist-to-be play like any other human child, trying hard not to think about what he could become.

“He wanted a snake,” Nanny said quietly, but her voice had dropped its Scottish lilt. “Like me.”

“I know, dear,” Francis said, and she sounded a little less like the gardener now too. “I know.”

“Do you think we’re doing okay?” Crowley’s voice was soft on the summer breeze, almost too quiet for Aziraphale to hear. But she did.

“I think we’re giving him balance and love, and that’s all we really can do.” She paused, watching Warlock chase after a pigeon that had landed for a moment on the grass, and then gaze up in awe as it flew lazily away. “But yes, I think we’re doing okay.”

“Good,” the demon said. She sniffed loudly.

Aziraphale smiled to herself, but afforded Crowley the dignity of not looking over to see her crying. She held out the first aid kit instead.

“Plaster?”

“Bastard.”

“Language, dear.”

“Yeah, well.” She sniffed again, then dared to reach out. Instead of taking or opening the box, Crowley rested her hand momentarily on Aziraphale’s and squeezed softly. “Thanks, angel.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **Injury in this fic:** Warlock trips over on the patio and grazes/skins his knees on the stone. It's not described in deep detail, but it's lingered over before it happens because Aziraphale and Crowley have specifically decided not to intervene with miracles and are tempted to do so.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
